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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27432727">Where the Heart Sings (and the Nargles too)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MB_Westover/pseuds/MB_Westover'>MB_Westover</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works &amp; Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Dimension Travel, Drabble-like Chapters, F/M, Gondolin, Luna-centric, Noldor - Freeform, Second Wizarding War, Tolkien languages, Westover is trying (i really am), Whimsical Thoughts and Ideas, im rusty on tolkien-lore please be KIND</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:06:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,830</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27432727</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MB_Westover/pseuds/MB_Westover</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Sometimes</i>, Luna thinks as she stares up at the dark sky, furiously whipping tendrils of pale hair reaching up into the cloudy expanse above like desperate fingers scrabbling for a hold, <i>sometimes it would be nice to properly say goodbye.</i></p><p>Her wand is a comforting weight in her hand as she smashes into the cobbled-stone below. </p><p>And then the Nargles begin singing.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Luna Lovegood/Glorfindel (Tolkien)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>94</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Verse 1; The Fall</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Scraping your face alongside broken, beaten down battlements while dodging spell fire never was on Luna Lovegood’s absolute <em>List of Lively</em> <em>or Not-So-Lively Things</em>. In fact, it had never been a thought.</p><p>Things like this happened though, and Daddy always, <em> always </em> planned for anything and everything. From dancing Nargles to Bowtruckles who wanted to learn how to fly, Daddy had thought of it all, pushing one more thing into his (illegally) expanded trunk that was easily passed off and ignored as a Lovegood family heirloom. </p><p>So, with her cheek raw and burning, Luna wondered if she should’ve planned for every single sort of contingency plan because she felt like some sort of upside-down Falling Bubblefairy with its wings clipped back. Things never really went to plan whenever Harry was involved—he really should’ve listened to her and <em> gotten rid of those pesky Nargles </em>—but being the Chosen One seemed to come with so many distractions that Luna could only sigh with enough understanding to shrug her shoulders and duck under an animated stone gargoyle leaping past as as a whooping student on broomback sweeps by, haphazardly dropping Professor Trelawney’s precious crystal balls.</p><p>Pale blue eyes turn downwards to the busy courtyard, cloaks and spell fire filling between the harsh and jagged gaps of broken bits of stone. </p><p>Hogwarts was weeping in its own sort of way, crumbling under the abuse of those she had sheltered beneath her ever-welcoming halls. Maybe that was why even the ghosts were riled up enough to cause a disturbance, entrenched in Hogwart’s magic only in a way the dead could know. </p><p>“Looney!” cried a voice, relief tinging their tone as a desperate hand gripped her arm. She jostled out of thought, turning to meet the very frantic Frederick Cresthorn who was very bad in Arithmancy but a prodigy in Transfiguration. </p><p>“Cresthorn.” She greets, feeling oddly calm despite the turbulence around them. The battlements are much, <em> much </em> more lax than the courtyard below of the inside of the castle, an odd tranquility found in battle. </p><p>“Loon—I mean, <em>Luna</em>.” He meets her eyes, almost pleadingly tugging her forward. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t mind Looney,” Luna airily replies, watching in fascination as spell-light flashes echoingly across his pale face. “It’s a good name for friends.”</p><p>Frederick sputters, “It’s not a—“ his shoulders drop, his hand retracting to run exasperatedly over his tired face. “Look. I want to apologize for being such a berk to you before we all die. I know I haven’t been the best—“</p><p>The apologies don't seem to sit right in his mouth so Luna smiles—though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes—patting his shoulder comfortingly. “Dont worry about it, Cresthorn. Nargles are tricksy things.”</p><p>The wizard huffs out a laugh, his wand held idly in his hands as he turns his gaze to look over the battlements. </p><p>“Yes...well…” He meets her gaze again, messy hair dropping over his wide forehead. His Halfblood status shows in the aristocratic planes in his face as it gives way to something more ambiguous and vague. Blood is strong with Purebloods, it’s easy to see who is who’s descendants by the planes of their face. </p><p>Luna has often been reminded of her own Selwyn grandmother in the dip of her nose and width of her nostrils, by various relatives. Sometimes Professor Trelawney liked to inquire about the pale ‘seer-touched’ eyes she inherited from a great-great Trelawney grandmother. </p><p>“I think it would be best if we helped those down there.” Luna says, her wand held surely in her hand. It thrummed and buzzed with the anticipation of magic, practically vibrating as spells whizzed by. </p><p>Hogwarts had always been a magical place, it’s ancient wards only growing as Headmaster and Headmistress after each other layered the magicks of the caste. It <em> sang </em> in the very air, Nargles dancing along with whatever tune came to their free minds. These magicks were <em> alive </em> now, Hogwarts breathing and moving just like the mass below. </p><p>Privately, Luna thought at times that it must be nice to be a Nargle, worried with little than flying and pestering magic. </p><p>“Yes,” Frederick says, his voice oddly faint as he too looks below at the courtyard. Harry is nowhere to be seen, but Luna is sure that he will appear. He had an uncanny ability of surviving not-so-good odds. </p><p>“You should really fix that hole on the bottom of your shoe—“ Luna turned her eyes back upwards, pausing as the glowing tip of a wand met her collarbone. “Cresthorn?”</p><p>There are tears swimming in his eyes, his lips pulled tightly together into his mouth. He shifts his arm, a flash of silver catching and <em>oh</em>—she <em>sees</em>. She looks up at him, at Cresthorn, furrowing her brows. “Why?”</p><p>He hesitates, his breath catching in his throat as his gaze flickers over her shoulders to the crumbling, blasted, and scorched parapets behinds her. “Because-Be-Because you’re his friend!”</p><p>
  <em>Harry Potter is my friend.</em>
</p><p>Her magic hums, pleased and wary at the comment. The Nargles buzzing around his head seem to swarm, circling around him tighter as his wand wavers. There’s something in his eyes Luna doesn’t quite understand but she’s seen it before; the gleaming flash, the watery tremble, the red shadowing. Ollivander held that sheen once, his gnarled hands curling over where her pockets would be and—</p><p><em>Oh</em>.</p><p>“Desperation is a heavy cloak.” Luna breathes, turning to look over her shoulder. It’s a steep drop, more than fifty meters. Harry had survived worse, hadn’t he?</p><p>
  <em>Yes, but Harry Potter was lucky.</em>
</p><p>“I—“ Frederick looks away, his face crumpling as he does. “I don’t <em> want </em>to do this.” His voice cracks, words struggling to find meaning as he meets his eyes with her own.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>He presses his wand, shaking his head and muttering lowly to himself before he gives out a short, almost barking laugh. It’s tinged with bitterness and scented with the air of someone with little options that Luna finds herself sneakily tucking her wand under her wrist to flick out and disarm when needed. </p><p>“Morale.” He rasps, wincing at the word. “The—<em> my </em> lord wishes for the morale to weaken you all if one of Potter’s own fell.”</p><p>Luna nods, “Well, it’s very pragmatic.”</p><p>There’s a lurch of power behind her, the flash of green and red on the stone castle walls that has her looking back, a high laugh that has her stomach flipping over and <em>oh</em>—she’s falling.</p><p>Her wand snaps out, wind pushing against her cheeks, her blonde hair flapping behind her and over her face as she mouths a spell she wasn’t sure would work. Sunlight flickers over in her head, the silhouette of a woman brightly smiling before her wand lit up, waving in the air.</p><p>
  <em> “Luxatio!” </em>
</p><p><em>Sometimes </em> , Luna thinks as she stares up at the dark sky, furiously whipping tendrils of pale hair reaching up into the cloudy expanse above like desperate fingers scrabbling for a hold, <em> sometimes it would be nice to properly say goodbye.  </em></p><p>Her wand is a comforting weight in her hand as she smashes into the cobbled-stone below. </p><p>And then the Nargles begin singing.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Intro before the Verse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Her bones bloom as she hits the ground, piercing through organs and skin, a wretched cry from her lips as she tries not to choke around the mouthful of blood that decides she will either die from loss of it, or drowning in it. </p><p> </p><p>It’s a humbling thing, facing your own death.</p><p> </p><p>Nevertheless, she wonders if this is how her mother felt at the sudden realization of her own fragile mortality in that split second before something goes wrong. But maybe Luna couldn’t feel that way, there was a lot to think about as you fell to your own death, afterall. She, for example, thought about how it would be nice to at least see her friends’ faces one last time. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Neville would be terribly sad.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Closing her eyes, it didn’t occur to her to use a charm to slow her fall before it was too late. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“Are you gray?”</p><p> </p><p>Luna blinked, the stars above winking back down at her before they began their merry dance among each other. Her throat was clear, desperation no longer hiding in the throes of human instinct faced with their demise. </p><p> </p><p>“Pardon?”</p><p> </p><p>A hand swept over her, resting upon her ribs before smoothing them over. “Are you gray?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m Luna.” </p><p> </p><p>The hand withdrew. </p><p> </p><p>“Do you hear the song then, Luna?” The voice prompted. The stars turned to look at her curiously, some even shifting from their spots in the sky to hear better. She breathed, her lungs whole and intact. Her ribs did not sprout here. </p><p> </p><p>“Sometimes. The Nargles like to sing.” </p><p> </p><p>There was a soft exhale, a curtain of fabric coming to rest over her person. The stars winked out from view, replaced by plain robes of a healing hand. There was passion in the weaved threads, a soft hush of it, but passion nonetheless. It was something that her mother would’ve liked.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you want to sing?”</p><p> </p><p>Luna hummed, her hands coming up to rest over her ribs. They were inside her, protecting her once more as well as they could. Cresthorn really should have thought out his plan more, but Luna doubted he could hear anything like she could. </p><p> </p><p>No one heard like Luna could. No one liked to acknowledge the Nargles except maybe Daddy, but Daddy was the only one who believed like she did. Harry might have been nice about it all, but Luna did not miss the taken-aback look in his eyes when she informed him of creatures no one else like to acknowledge. Neville had been nice about it all, but Luna knew he didn’t truly <em> believe </em>. </p><p> </p><p>“I think I would like that. Do you think I would sound nice?” Luna blinks, her lashes catching slightly on the robe. It smelled of mist. Like Hogwarts on early mornings.</p><p> </p><p>The hand returned, placing itself on her forehead over the fabric. Even through the cloth she could feel the mellow coolness of it, comforting in a way like the crackling of a fireplace was. </p><p> </p><p>“I think you would sound beautiful. Harmony is a lovely thing. Hurts to scab over; cracks to seal; it would make everything feel a little more real.” They shuffle, a shadow making its way across the cloth as Luna inhales slowly.</p><p> </p><p>Things do feel slow here. Like the beginning of a weaving tapestry, careful hands instead of experienced ones--an apprentice still learning their lifelong craft. It’s a comforting feeling, like the steady beat of her heart as she lays upon stone that somehow feels soft. It reminds Luna of the Ravenclaw common room on those rare and treasured nights that none of her housemates save herself lingered underneath the watchful eyes of their house founder in her statued form. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> She wouldn’t ever be able to see the stars under a raven’s wing. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It’s a sad thought. One that leads the hand to pull away the robe and cup her face. </p><p> </p><p>“Nothing else can be done without your own song.” </p><p> </p><p>“That's okay,” Luna exhales, pale lashes catching onto tears. “Daddy always said that inspiration of spirit starts at the basis of emotion.”</p><p> </p><p>The hand pauses in-between it’s journey from cupping her cheek to wiping away her tears before a woman’s face swims into view. She is pale, paler than herself with a pink rim around her eyes as if she herself wept with Luna. Perhaps she did. Perhaps she didn’t. </p><p> </p><p>“I think this song would be good for you, Luna Lovegood.” The woman says, silver hair tumbling from behind pointed ears in a wave that has Luna blinking. </p><p> </p><p>“Are you a Juxtaposed Skin-holder?” </p><p> </p><p>The woman laughs, her cheeks flushing pink. Gold eyes twinkle merrily in a way that reminds her of someone she can’t quite yet place. The stars laugh with her. </p><p> </p><p>When Luna blinks once more, the sun is peeking over the horizon, the woman gone.</p><p> </p><p>Her wand rests quietly in her hand as the trees call out in questioning song. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Little by little, one travels far. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I have settled with Where the Heart Sings (and the Nargles too) will be drabble-like and less serious than my other works. I've honestly enjoyed writing this chapter and while the length of it made be blanch, writing this has been almost therapeutic and calming compared to how stressed I get from drafting my other works. </p><p>So expect random length chapters with the confusing whimsicalness that comes from Luna. I hope I have been portraying her well and I'm honestly bummed about how there aren't enough Luna-centric stories. Hope you all enjoyed this and will continue to enjoy this.</p><p>The mysterious woman of this chapter was Estë, the Valier who heals hurts and weariness. I just thought it would be a nice little interlude before we jumped into the rest of this.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Chorus of Winds and Trees</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There’s more magic in the air. </p><p> </p><p>Luna can feel it. The trees, the grass, the wind--they hall held that song and taste of magic Daddy taught her to recognize. It’s a comforting feeling, to feel the wind tussle and twist your hair until you have no choice but to laugh.</p><p> </p><p>She had run with the wind until her lungs burned, had dug her toes into the dirt to feel the earthy welcome as grass tickled her feet. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> There was magic in the air. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She laughed, he wand in hand as she swished and flicked, no particular spell on her mind or lips as ribbons of silver, gold, blue, purple, and even the shy color of green peeked through the mesh of colors. There needn't be much thought in what to do, Luna listened when others didn’t, she could hear how her magic sang with the world’s, how the world’s magic sang right back.</p><p> </p><p>She leaps, bounding down the hill with a joyful laugh. Was this how Moonlit-Dancing Lily-Fairies felt? So free and open to the world around them with nary a thought or person to stop them?</p><p> </p><p>Her head tilted up, the sun warm on her skin. Perhaps she was a Blazing-Marching Fairy, full of delight and mischief. But Luna was not mischievous, so perhaps she was just Luna.</p><p> </p><p><em> Just </em> Luna. <em> (That would be nice, wouldn’t it?) </em></p><p> </p><p>Her eyes opened, the sky a vast blue above her as her magic’s song warbled into a faint murmur. Above her, there were many possibilities, afterall, there were always many options for clouds to take shape however they want, so why couldn’t she?</p><p> </p><p>The Juxtaposed Skin-Changer was kind enough to hear the same song, to weep over Cresthorn’s mistakes and perhaps even say goodbye to her friends. Daddy would be upset over himself, but he was strong. He had the Geranium Giggle-Weeds to cheer him up when his skies were gray.</p><p> </p><p>(Because Luna could still hear the way her bones broke, shattering into a thousand pieces as spellfire lit up the sky above.)</p><p> </p><p>She wasn’t Harry Potter. She was Luna. Just Luna. She didn’t possess impossible luck, or heaps of courage. She just <em> Saw </em>. </p><p> </p><p>Goosebumps broke over her flesh as the wind blew softly; a reminder. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh.” Is all she says, because how do you respond to a song you are not yet allowed to join? </p><p> </p><p>The dress she wears is light, so light that she just now realizes she wears. It’s dyed a soft gray, a nice gray that has her thinking once again of the Juxtaposed Skin-Changer and her pink-rimmed eyes that looked so sad and joyous. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think I am gray.” </p><p> </p><p>The wind cools to a breeze, questioning and searching if by the way it tugs on the pale tendrils of her hair. She lifts a hand to tuck the more troublesome strands from out of her face, turning her eyes to gaze over the horizon. </p><p> </p><p>There’s a whisper, soft and hushed that she barely catches if it wasn’t for the way the breeze suddenly becomes insistent. It pushes her, her toes coming loose from the earth as she stumbles to catch herself. </p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” She laughs. “Okay, I see, I see.”</p><p> </p><p>She turns her head to the green wood, the very trees singing their encouragement for her to take shelter under their care. The song from the wood is old, but curious in a way that she only ever heard from Headmaster Dumbledore’s own song. (The Nargles around him liked to primp and preen, singing as loud as they could and buzzing even <em> louder </em>.)</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>So she leaps, hair flying free and the wind against her back as she makes her way to the woods, the trees calling out soft and eager encouragement as they watch. It’s only as her hand touches the first tree, a welcoming branch bending to greet her that sound <em> bursts </em>in her mind.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The water is cool against her legs as she wades through the creek, the skirt of her dress bunched up over her thighs. Minnows darted by, curious but not enough to tempt their luck. </p><p> </p><p>Birdsong echoed overhead, mischievous magpies swooping down to sing their hellos and outshine the flock of sparrows that flittered overhead. Luna had a well-enough bounty of feathers, given by flapping wings as they glided across the air to land like lily-pads on the water. She of course had picked up every single one, giving her thanks and wishing she had something to give in return, but with the way the woods sang and the wind laughed, she doubted that she could find an adequate gift.</p><p> </p><p>Curious branches bent down to look at her gifts, some of them receiving their own as the sparrows and magpies made their way home. They would soon have many joining their woodland song.</p><p> </p><p>“Hop on four daises, hop on two,” She gasped as the smooth-pebbled bottom of the creek gave way to clay and mud, the bottom drawing deeper. “Hop on one, and you’ll lose.” </p><p> </p><p>Professor Sprout liked to hum that song under her breath when she managed the plants during Herbology. Luna thought it was quite fitting for the Head of Hufflepuff, she had a green-thumb like no other (but perhaps Neville) and Daddy had said that the Sprouts were descended from Seed Sapped Spriggans. </p><p> </p><p>Idly, she wondered if perhaps the Whomping Willow was a Spriggan. It would indeed explain it’s bad temper and propensity to swing at anyone near. It would also lend evidence to Professor Sprout being a descendant of a Seed Sapped Spriggan as she was the only one able to safely approach the tree. </p><p> </p><p>She paused, her brows furrowing.</p><p> </p><p><em> No </em> . The Whomping Willow was much too big to be a Spriggan. Maybe a Bark-Crested Dryad? But Daddy had said the <em> Macmillans </em>were Dryad-descent…</p><p> </p><p>Luna sighed. So many questions and thoughts with little hope to receive answers. Maybe with the way magic sang in the air--</p><p> </p><p><em> “Darcentu!” </em> </p><p> </p><p>An arrow whizzed by, prompting a shriek from her lips. Her wand sparked in her hand, her hair flying as an invisible barrier snapped into place. </p><p> </p><p>Her heart raced, darting around the trees to try and spot where the archer was, magic thrumming under her skin in a defensive embrace. The wind had stilled and so had the song of the trees, the silence stretching as a pause settled over the area. </p><p> </p><p>A string of words were said, the voice ringing clear despite it all being in a language she had no understanding of. The archer paused as if realizing she did not speak their language before barking out in rapid succession. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”</p><p> </p><p>A pause. </p><p> </p><p>She whipped her head to the right as a figure dropped from the trees, dark hair settling over their shoulders conveniently. They were tall and practically <em> thrumming </em>with magic as a faint glow seemed to emit from them under their pale skin. An elegant bow was held in front of them, their knuckles almost white as they cautiously eyed her. </p><p> </p><p>“You speak Quenya?” </p><p> </p><p>Her magic swished, retreating back into her person as her wand warmed in her hand. A reminder if needed be.</p><p> </p><p>Despite the foreignness of the words, her very core knowing that it wasn't English even though it rang clearly in her ears, she...<em>understood</em>. She tilted her head. “It seems so.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So the Elves of Gondolin spoke Mithrim (Northern Sindarin) and Quenya. Mithrim is an extinct dialect of Sindarin as it was mainly spoken by the exiled Noldor and the House of Beor. There is VERY little information on Mithrim but!! I found a grand total of 7 words, with "Centu" being a big question mark on its translation so I took some creative liberty to perhaps have it meaning "walking/moving/to step" I put "dar-" which in Neo-Sindarin means "to stop, halt".</p><p> The convenience of Luna being able to speak Quenya is a lil gift Este left behind after placing her into Middle-Earth.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chords of Little Explanations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There were gray mountains, there in the distance that she could mistake for maybe Snail-Touched Earthgiant Shakers if she squinted hard enough, becoming larger and larger as the buzz in her chest that was little more than a gentle hum in the forest started to grow like a waspish hole that was an unwelcome intruder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Luna could feel the moment the wards slid over her skin, watery and demanding in the way it washed through her body, probing her magic. Her escort stared at her curiously as she hunched her shoulders up to her ears, her body jerking in an uncontrolled tic that had her head jerking back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Under what agency do you tread upon, human?” Her escort asks, dark blue eyes guarded yet searching as the muscles in her neck loosen, her shoulders falling back to their usual loose hold that has her arms swinging every which way oh-so merrily. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She looks away from the archer, the crest of his bow ever-present in his hand as if to remind her that she would have a hard time running. That was okay. Luna wasn’t one to run anyways. Daddy had always said that if you ran long and hard enough, there would always be someone on the trail you left behind, chasing you out of curiosity or hunger. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Idly, she wonders if Harry, Ron, and Hermione ran so much because they had no choice but to. That would be terribly sad. Luna much preferred skipping, with how her legs made her feel light and the wind teased her hair as she sprang up once again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ginny used to skip with her, when they were much younger and Hogwarts was more of a dream, two childhood friends forged together by their neighborhood and the creek that burbled closer to Luna’s home. There, by that creek they would pretend they were whatever Fae or Creature that Luna had designated them as, hopping and roaring and screaming with laughter as Daddy combed through the mushrooms and tall grass for Primpling Gnome-Fairies. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The forest looms over them, the shadows of the trees skimming the edges of her heels as she takes in the tall trunks and branches that shy from each other, bushes and ferns greedily taking up what space there was below. There’s something that sings to her in those woods, crooning and delightful in the way Yuletide was when Harry and Ginny were kind enough to leave her some sugar cookies, the taste of affection and friendship heady on her tongue, sugar dusting her fingers as she thumbed through some nameless book shelved away in the Ravenclaw Common Room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The song that the forest sings is something she can liken from a mother to it’s child, or perhaps a child trying to coax love from its mother. Either way, it moves Luna. She finds herself swaying, eyes closed as she focuses on that delightful song. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When she speaks, it’s with the echo of that melody, something that has been always there but never heard, and so, so terribly relieved. “I am an agent of no one but the Song.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Luna knows what it’s like to be alone. She remembers empty hallways filled with people, but it was empty simply because there was the jeering of shoeless, friendless, Luna Lovegood with a moniker that Daddy would have wept and raged to hear because he loves her just like the moon loves the stars and the sun loves the sky. Her and Daddy were two tadpoles in a small pond full of water ferns and clay, but that was okay. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her companion makes a face as she opens her eyes, huffing to himself and muttering something in that language that makes her toes curl and her ears delight in the sound. The words are beautiful in a way that is right, slotting together but a surety and intent that comes with a history of planting your feet in the ground and saying ‘no’ to something bigger. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(If Harry was here, Luna could see him speaking that tongue. There was a fire in his eyes that was overshadowed by the warmth in his heart because he was Harry Potter, the Chosen One, just as much as he was Harry Potter, Looney-Luna’s Friend.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They continue on, Luna silent as the pointed-ear stranger shifts his hands on his bow, eyes flicking over to her every-so-often to make sure she hasn’t disappeared. It amuses Luna, and she finds great enjoyment in skipping forward a few steps before he could bark out for her to stop, turning and waiting for him to huffily catch up. He glares at her the first few times she does it, but stops after the eighth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come here.” He orders, a gloved hand pulling her by her wrist before she could move of her own accord. “The way here is forbidden to eyes like yours.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The dark green sash around his waist is repurposed as a blindfold that robs her of her sight but not the rest of her senses, and so she digs her feet into the soft earth and feels as the grass around her tickles her ankles in greeting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A hand settles over the nape of her neck, firm but yielding in a way that has Luna thinking that her companion is not at all full of brambles as he looks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Soon enough, Luna feels grass and dirt turn into clumsily cobbled stone that scrapes under the soles of her feet, and that too changes into smooth stone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Careful.” Her companion barks, the hold on her nape tightening as he jerks her out of the way of something she cannot see. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s the sound of bells—loud ones that clang on top of a belltower, not the tinkling ones Missus Weasley used until she found that shouting was a better alternative with seven rowdy children and a sometimes-there Luna and Harry—that has her jerking her head upwards. Voices follow that, Luna taking great pleasure in the way the tones are teasing towards her companion. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Herutirmo!” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lord Watcher.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s a name that she instinctively translates in her head, the meaning broken down until the words shine in her mind in her native English. Luna wonders if this is how all multilingual speakers see things in their own mind. A small caption under foregin words. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hail, Ilinsor, Erinti.” He pushes her forward, her feet quickly sorting themselves to balance as she trips over the stone despite there being nothing there. It was jarring, to move without sight. “I found this one near the Small Wood. There is a strange feel to her, despite her being mortal.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Luna can hear the scrape of a boot and the jingling of something metal, but other than that, nothing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The language they speak is not the one Luna instinctively knows, but more like the one her companion had spoken before. There's the sound of shuffling and something else, but before she could think too much of what it was, there's a loud crack that has her flinching and jerking her head towards the noise. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Move. Careful here, the stones are looser where feet tread upon them frequently.” Herutimo, </span>
  <em>
    <span>her escort,</span>
  </em>
  <span>  says matter-of-factly. He is right, as the stones feel softer here, more worn in the way that designates it as a busy entrance or gate, because that loud crack was definitely a gate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Magic buzzes here as actively as Hogwarts did, searching and gentle in a way that she would have never expected. There was a latency here, given by those who called the stones under here feet the foundation of their home. It was a protected place, and Luna wondered if the buzz of it all was intentional or not. Things like that were, but were also forgotten over time, slowly becoming unintentional as time passed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Memories were hard to keep, even for wizards, who boasted centuries upon centuries of knowledge and memory. There were always things bound to be forgotten.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(Luna ignores the ache in her heart at that thought. Sometimes she can barely remember how her Mum had smiled. Sometimes she thinks that she may be forgetting how </span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy </span>
  </em>
  <span>smiled. The war was so very long.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s another crack of a gate opening, the clank of chains as gears turn and turn and turn. The ground beneath them seems to shake at the rumbling giant of it all, and like the last one, she passes under it blind save for the hand that pushes her forward. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There are more voices all in curious tones as the sounds of a busy town settles over her. Though perhaps calling Herutirmo’s presumed home a town is way out of estimation the more he leads her on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A </span>
  <em>
    <span>city </span>
  </em>
  <span>would be more appropriate, with stone streets that have gone on longer than the lengthy Potions corridor that snakes across the dungeons. By the time Herutirmo nudges her up a long, long stone staircase, his harm tensely threaded through her own to guide her, she can feel the grime on her feet and her breaths are a bit heavier than when they first started.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Here,</span>
  </em>
  <span> here there was the center of the tempest. It shocked her bones, whispering it’s excited questions and wants into her ear like a child beholding a new caretaker. She could feel her hair stand on edge, alarmed at this new presence that made her feel lightheaded and lost. It was invasive, asking and wanting to know. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Who? Who are you, one that steps into my halls and stands in my belly?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, she is aware of just how parched she is. Her mouth is a desert, but with Herutirmo’s arm that unthreads itself from her own and pushes her forward with a suddenly harsh action, Luna realizes that there is no oasis here. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She is alone.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There is a questioning voice, masculine and distinguished in the simple question that his tone forms itself into. Herutirmo answers, presumably gesturing to her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a pause, a silence in words that makes her feel like a first year and theres Professor Flitwick looking down at her with sad eyes and—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The blindfold is gently untied and Luna blinks rapidly at the change of lighting as the hall swims into view before her. Through blurry eyes she can see the gentle overall shape of sloping dome. There’s an oculus at the top, daylight hitting the smoothed polished stone below in a wide circle that illuminates an intricately welded drain. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was white and beautiful. Gently sloping curves that were edged by utilitarian edges, the two designs contrasting with one another but somehow coming together in unity that Luna would’ve never thought of. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am told you were within the Orfalch Echor, but however, you have little of the look of the Edain. Who are you and how have you come into the Hidden Realm, where only one of Man has walked along it’s halls and earth?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Luna, of course, can’t help but stare. A king he is, sat upon a high throne and a staff in hand that whispers and cackles to none but her. His hair is dark, a circlet upon his kingly brow in shining silver as his eyes look down at her with both curiosity and wariness. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her legs are shaky as she lowers into a curtsy. She hasn’t used such an action since her grandmother was alive, the old witch being a stickler for Pureblood manners and traditions that Daddy had since forgotten about as he puttered about around their rook-shaped home. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am Luna, Your Majesty.” Her voice is soft, unsure as it bounces around the wide chamber of the hall. “I come in peace. I awoke upon a meadow and was found by Herutirmo—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The said Herutirmo jerks at the use of his name, looking at her incredulously at her naming of him, but Luna was used to others not thinking she was smart enough, despite the blue that bordered her robes and the raven that stood proudly on her breast. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“—I was enjoying the Wood’s Song.It sang so beautifully, you see, and Herutirmo found me as I was swept up in it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The King’s brows are surely up to his hairline by this point, given the way Luna could see his lips twitch. Maybe. He was much too far to see from her spot, high upon his throne and from the vastness of the throne room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Herutirmo steps up next to her, crossing his arm over his heart before dropping into a low bow that has him going down on one knee. “My king.” He begins, his head turned downwards to the glossy marble beneath, “the woman’s words are true, in the sense that I found her dancing in the Small Wood, but I know little of her origin or the truth of the rest of her words.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Luna can see as the king moves back, shifting his feet and feeling the weight of his eyes on her as she stands awkwardly. There was nothing worse than not knowing what to do when it felt like the world was looking at you. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I see.” His scepter clinks as he then stands, tall, even from the good fifty yards that probably separate them. His boots echo as he then steps down, one stair after another under his foot until he stands utop the drain, the sun highlighting the shades of blue in his black hair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Herutirmo tenses next to her with each step, but Luna stills and keeps her hands in front of her lest one of the guards along the walls sees her as a threat to their ruler and shoots her with the bows strapped to their armored backs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You have the look of the Eldar upon you,” the King says, dark blue eyes looking over her curiously. “But little of our light or touch.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He steps forward, close enough that Luna tries not to gasp at the sheer height of the king, for he towers upon even Herutirmo who she had thought of as tall, easily a good seven feet, maybe a bit less. She was never good with heights, but if there was something she was sure of, it was that he was, in fact, </span>
  <em>
    <span>tall. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His brows furrow, a large hand settling over the top of her head and dropping to her forehead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My king—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The King waves Herutirmo off, shock flashing through his eyes as Luna tries so hard to not move and dart away. Her magic buzzes like the warning of a hive of bees, and Luna can see the exact moment the King can tell because he draws his hand back so fast and takes a half-step back as he stares at her in shock.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a crashing sound in her ears, the world spinning behind her eyes. The Juxtaposed Skin-holder weeps and chuckles over her once again, a soft hand lulling her to sleep before freedom settled into her bones. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> the King breathes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It answers little but all at once, the silver circlet on his brow gleaming as he tilts his head in a shallow bow that has Luna feeling as if someone had turned her on her axis and told her to spin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lady Luna of the Maia, we apologize. The Hidden City has had little reason to believe a visit from one of yours.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Is all Luna could say, because there is little song in her bones or skin now, only the whoosh of wind and the ground coming up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sad eyes look on, turning away despite the satisfied smile that lingers in them. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Been awhile since an update, but there's a little more than usual in this chapter. Took a bit for me to get in the whole Luna mindset and I basically wrote all of this when I was supposed to be paying attention to my lectures.</p><p>All Elves mentioned in this minus Turgon (the king) are non-canonical and are OCs simply to fill in empty spaces. Don't yell at me for Luna being simply explained as a Maiar because!!! This has a reason!!!! Besides the fact that her magic transcended actual WORLDS/UNIVERSES, but it was hinted in the second chapter with Este (Luna basically being touched and cared for by a Vala) along with other stuff that may come in later........</p><p>Also note that I really butchered the description of Gondolin but Luna was blindfolded and not all MCs are the best narrators so... we will get into descriptions next chapter because they are FUN </p><p>Hope you all enjoyed this!!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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